


crash-landing on the moon

by perennials



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-22
Updated: 2018-09-22
Packaged: 2019-07-15 09:18:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 836
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16060118
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/perennials/pseuds/perennials
Summary: Bokuto asks, reverent, “Can I kiss you?”





	crash-landing on the moon

**Author's Note:**

> wait a minute. why am i here again

When Tetsurou finds out they are going to the same college, he goes numb with a blown-glass cocktail of relief and comfort and other, less-identifiable things. Bokuto slings an arm around his neck and yanks him in close and beams at him. Tetsurou grins back, and then pulls him towards the door so they can get out of his room, where they have been lying around doing nothing for the past hour, and go wreak havoc on the streets of Tokyo instead. The afternoon sky is brilliantly blue, like a stock image of happiness. The sidewalks are burning.

 

College happens. Life happens. They stay in each other’s lives, somehow, one way or another.

 

When Tetsurou finds out he is not the only one hopelessly, hopelessly in love with his best friend, he actually goes numb. He goes so numb Bokuto has to shake him out of it, after which Tetsurou still cannot find the capacity within himself to do anything but stare back blankly. Bokuto’s room is big and small and distant, like the interior of a hot air balloon seen from the ground. His hands are on Tetsurou’s shoulders. The ceiling is burning.

 

“Kuroo,” Bokuto says, soft for once, his outdoor voice toned down into some kind of magnificent indoor gymnasium-voice instead.

 

There is a volleyball poster on the wall behind Bokuto with one corner bent out of place. Tetsurou traces the outline of it with his eyes.  “Mmm?”

 

Somewhere at the very, very back of his mind, a small and intelligent voice supplies the thought that Tetsurou might actually be hallucinating right now. He is very partial to this thought. He is also very, very aware of Bokuto even though he is still staring pointedly at the poster on the wall. Tetsurou can’t help it. Bokuto’s thumbs are rubbing small circles into the fabric of his shirt, which is inevitably in contact with his skin, which is now inevitably burning like all the sidewalks do in summer.

 

Then Bokuto asks, reverent, “Can I kiss you?” Because he has just confessed his feelings after all, even if Tetsurou is still in disbelief. Even if Tetsurou still feels like he’s approximately three hundred feet above the ground, watching the afternoon sunlight chase the shadows out of Bokuto’s beautiful, diamond-cut face.

 

Suddenly, Tetsurou remembers that he is a person. Therefore, he must have a mouth, and a voice, too, which he fishes out of the tumultuous ocean of his throat with great effort.

 

“Sure,” he replies, very faint.

 

Bokuto kisses him. This is something Tetsurou has wanted for as long as he has wanted to block all of his stupid wonderful amazing spikes. This is something Tetsurou, eighteen years old and freshly-laundered into the great big mess of college, has really only ever dreamed of. This is also very definitely happening. Tetsurou reaches over and pinches his arm to be sure of it.

 

Bokuto laughs at him, his lips and breath and all of him warm and soft and in close, mind-blowing proximity, enough that Tetsurou can make out the bob of his Adam’s apple every time he swallows. It is like being made privy to the best kind of secret. Tetsurou huffs at this, and then kisses him again so Bokuto will stop laughing at him and continue making him feel like he is skydiving from the highest point in the world, leaping right out of the earth’s atmosphere.

 

The bed in Bokuto’s dorm room is comfortable. It has sheets which smell like fabric softener and Bokuto’s shampoo, which Tetsurou recognizes because he bought it for him for his birthday one year and he’s been using the same stuff ever since. The volleyball poster is now far out of sight, replaced by Bokuto and the strong set of his shoulders, and all that gold and white and gray shrouding him like you read about in ancient myths. There are hymns in his eyes.

 

Tetsurou finally remembers that he is supposed to be the one with his shit together, and not his best friend who he is in love with who loves him back, who never looks like he has his shit together but actually does have it together most of the time. He shifts slightly against the sheets, glancing up at Bokuto from under the curtain of his eyelashes. A smirk creeps across his face.

 

(Actually, it is less of a smirk and more of an absolutely smitten, dopey-as-fuck smile, but Tetsurou does not notice this, and Bokuto thinks he looks good no matter what the hell he’s doing.)

 

Bokuto’s eyes go very, very wide, and he surges forward. Tetsurou forgets about the whole smirking and looking like he has his shit together thing immediately. Outside the window, the sky is brilliantly blue, like a stock image of happiness. Inside his chest, Tetsurou’s heart is singing an opera number, because he knows weird shit like that, and secretly likes most of it, too.

 

_ Okay, _ he thinks, threading his fingers into the feather-fluff of Bokuto’s hair.  _ Okay. _

**Author's Note:**

> talk to me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/nikiforcvs) or [tumblr](http://corpsentry.tumblr.com/)
> 
> my finals are not over yet and i lost an entire fucking set of notes on communism in southeast asia jesus BUT ANYWAY i wrote something now isn't that a concept. ok. thank you for reading this thing. all comments and kudos and bookmarks are super duper appreciated. I REALLY NEED TO STOP WRITING FOR A WHILE i probably won't tho so ill see yall when i see yall
> 
> hav a good one


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